


My Brother's Keeper

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As always, you don’t talk about it. You never have; this isn’t something you can just talk about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Brother's Keeper

He says your name in his sleep, moaned in pain, with his fingers curled around his pillowcase, long legs flopping helplessly on the mattress. He doesn’t talk about his memories from the cage and what they did to him down there. You don’t ask; you don’t want to know. The thought of someone else touching him _like that_ , and without his consent sets a fire in your veins. 

As always, you don’t talk about it. You never have; this isn’t something you can just talk about. 

He says your name when you’re driving in a hushed voice, barely breathed among the squeak of metal and rumble of the engine. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his fingers fluttering on the seam of his jeans, they glide along the edge, inching closer towards you. Then he stops, sighs, exhausted, and flattens his hand on his thigh, muscles twitching. 

You wonder how many more hours it will take before he finally gets up the courage to reach over and touch you. It’s been a year and a half and Lucifer is still in his head, and you know he wants to curl up against you, underneath your arm like he did as a little kid. He wants to hideaway from the world, from his memories and drown in you. 

You won’t make the first move; this is up to him. 

In the diner, three hundred miles later, he says your name a third time, voice choked, scratchy and full of desperation. As the saying goes: the third time’s the charm. He nudges at your foot with his own underneath the table, staring so openly and fearfully at you that a bubble of anxiety lodges itself in your throat, making it hard to breathe. 

“What do you need, Sam?” You ask, even though the answer has been obvious the entire time. 

Sam dips his head, and retracts his foot from where it was resting against yours. 

“You.”

Your lips twitch a little fighting back a smile. _Finally.  
_

“Me? What do you need me for?” You tease, finding his foot underneath the table again and playfully kicking at his shin. 

He smiles just the barest glimpse of one and gets up from the booth; it’s clear you’re supposed to follow. 

He doesn’t reply until you are both back inside the Impala and she’s purring underneath you. 

“I’ll show you, just take us back to the motel.”

* * *

You hover behind him as he opens the door, keys jangling in his hand as he fumbles with the lock. He looks like an awkward teenager, over-eager for you to get into his pants. Except, that’s not what is going to happen at all. Maybe one day, but not what today; that’s not what he needs. 

He toes off his shoes near the door, tossing his duffel onto the one and only bed. It’s weird to see, this is the first time you’ve gotten a single in two years. You watch from the doorway as he opens the bag and starts pulling out articles of clothing and piling them in his arms- your favorite pair of grey sweatpants, another pair of sweatpants, your old AC/DC t-shirt, a thin light blue t-shirt, and two pairs of woolly blue knit socks. He tosses you a pair of sweatpants, the AC/DC shirt, and a pair of socks with a slight nod. 

“Put ‘em on and come back,” He orders, voice even and emotion masked. You nod, still standing in the doorway. It isn’t until he starts zipping up the bag and tosses it to the floor with a thump that you get with the program and shuffle towards the bathroom door.

When you come out, he’s curled up underneath the covers, the small light from the nightstand casting shadows across his back. Sucking in a breath you cross over to the bed and gingerly sit down. It squeaks in protest and you wait for him to move, to say something, or ask for something. He doesn’t. 

“Sam?”

“Just get in bed, Dean.”

You do, crawling underneath the cheap, scratchy robin’s egg blue blanket and scoot away from the edge of the bed. Your hand itches to touch his waist, to pull him closer, to hold him, but you wait. This is about what he needs, not you. 

His back is to you, and you focus on the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, waiting. After a few moments, he slowly rotates over to face you, scooting closer until your faces are inches apart. He smiles, a little tip up of his lips and reaches out, tangling his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” You ask, squeezing his hand lightly. 

He nods, staring down at your joined hands. He looks like he’s contemplating something, and for the first time in a long time you forget how to breathe. 

“Can you hold me?” 

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush. “Of course, Sammy.”

You let go of his hand and slide your palm along his ribs, moving backwards until you reach his back. He scoots closer, and down, enough so that he can curl up underneath your arm just like he used to when he was little and not haunted by dreams of fire and chains. He lets out a soft whimper when your arms encircle him fully, pulling him flush against your chest. 

“Thanks, De,” He mumbles into your shirt, warm mouth pressed against your side, and he snuggles in closer. 

“Get some sleep,” You say, tightening your hold around him. He sighs against you, hands slip around your waist and hugs against your side. 

A long, heavy breath leaves your lungs and your eyes slide shut. You lay there for what seems like hours, listening to his breathing even out as he falls into a deep sleep. The warmth of his body pressed against yours soaks into your skin, into your veins and fills your soul with a sense of comfort and fulfillment you’d been missing for the past two years. 

It is good to finally be home.


End file.
